Purple Eyes
by FluffleNeCharka
Summary: Drawn to Life. Chef Cookie reflects on his relationship with the hero, and the boy's rather unusual appearance. Shonen ai, Cookie/Hero, drabble, oneshot. Complete.


AN: Written because Chef Cookie struck me as a hopeless romantic, and if you think about it, the player character in Drawn to Life is kind of doomed. I mean, being that young and all, there's no way he has any clue about romance. (And this is made worse by my character Ro's design, which covers up his mouth and probably makes speaking hard as heck.) So I was thus inspired to write this, which is quite possibly the most innocent, overly fluffy romance I've ever written.

I own nothing, am not making profit, and claim nothing here.

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Why did the Creator have to give you such soft eyes?

So gentle and so innocent. So really, really innocent. You have no idea what's going on half the time, what things are, what they do, what things mean. It should be annoying. Somehow, it's endearing. You don't mean it, do you, Ro? You just are totally new to the world. It's hard, sometimes, trying to keep in mind that you're twice my height and yet only days old. I don't mind when you make mistakes or have moments of foolishness. You're only a child, really.

Your eyes hold wisdom sometimes, but they're always soft. Fighting, even, any glance spared my way will be concerned, affectionate. From the second you looked at me when you were created, you were stunning with those eyes. They are a flashing neon sign for your emotions, for you moments of wisdom and confusion and all that lies between. Such a lovely color, too. It captivates me.

Purple.

I dream in purple. I dream of the day your clothes won't cover all of you, when I can see your face. When you can feel grass under your feet and the sun on your arms. For now all I have is purple, purple in a sea of black clothes and grey hair and ashy skin. I don't understand why you were made to look so boring save for your eyes, but if it was meant to draw attention to you, it worked. Your eyes stun me, captivate me. Such a strange color admist your colorless form. Purple is a royal color. Regal. And you are, too, underneath it all. Divine. You were created divinely and given to us from above. Those eyes, so radically different from the black of the Raposa, remind me of this.

Everything you do, all I can see is your purple eyes. I want to look at them, closer, but you always bury yourself under your beret and half-face mask when I lean in. You don't understand you are different, beautiful. Timid. Innocent. New to the world. You are so utterly lost sometimes, and I pity you, for everyone has their own advice for you. Mari spoils your fun, fills your brain with facts that go over your head. Jowee will talk your ear off until you're lost in a sea of foreign concepts and chatter. Issac will only tell you what is practical, which is no way to live life. None of them ever whisper to you that you are special and beautiful, like I do.

I will give you good food, tell you that cooking is a symbol of love, and let you bury your blush in your mask. Even your mind, new as it as, can gather what I mean. You know exactly what I am implying. But I won't press my luck on the matter. Everyone is pressuring you to do things, go places, be better. I know the value of just letting you blush and think as you quietly eat. It's alright. More is said in silence than can ever be said outloud. Your expressions, or what I can see of them, say everything about you. You don't know how to hide any of your feelings, poor little thing. It would probably help this crush developing between us if you could. On the other hand, you truly are wonderfully endearing. Such a doll. I don't think anything could stop me from loving you.

Beautiful eyes, staring at me when you think I'm not looking. So longing, so curious. Always curious. I can see you thinking. You always seem to be thinking about something, though what, I don't know. Are you thinking about me? Or are you thinking about _us_? You never speak, but your eyes betray your longing. Innocent, clueless, hopeless puppy love longing that takes me back to my days as a child. I smile warmly at you and let you think your quiet, childish thoughts. The stare begins to wear on my nerves after a while, though. Every day for a week, I endure that same stare, the same light blush I can barely see on your cheeks, until...

Until you turn away, eyes filling with confusion. I hate your lack of voice. I wish you would ask questions, the emotional kind only a chef, a true studier of life, could answer. I would answer every question your eyes hold, especially the ones I can see you want to ask when people kiss. You look at me, and I can feel it. You want to know what it is. And you touch your mask, barely able to feel it through the gloves, and wonder why your mouth is covered. Why you can't kiss. Do you want to kiss me, or are so naieve your brain has yet to go there? It's weighing on you, I can tell. All you can do is bury yourself against me, eyes full of expression and emotions, while I try not to blush myself.

I pity you. I don't understand why the creator made you like this. But I will always be here, to hug you gently and take you into my kitchen. You are my true love. I cannot leave your side for a moment without your image haunting me. And your eyes tell me you feel the same, you love me too, and you feel comforted in my kitchen. You show me your every whim without a word ever being spoken.

Your eyes disarm me.

More than anything, though, they disarm _you_.


End file.
